


only by the moon

by Suicix



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Early Mornings, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suicix/pseuds/Suicix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a full moon, Justin returns to Heath and home. (Though really, those things are pretty much the same to him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	only by the moon

Once the moon has sunk and day is beginning to break – that strange state of hazy blue-pink-white that seems to creep up on you from the dark – Justin knows it’s safe to leave the enclosure and return home. He makes his way through the twilight, still getting used to actually walking on his own two feet again. Even if he’s only in his wolf form for a night at a time, he loses himself in that state each full moon. A were can’t _not_ lose themselves like that, can’t help but let that side completely take over, can’t help but let the human sentience and perception slip away.

There are ways to stop it from getting so bad, though: drugs that make his moon form safe and docile so he doesn’t have to travel miles to and from the nearest enclosure each month. But it’s expensive, even for just a few months worth of supply, and every time Heath tries to bring the subject up because he wants Justin to be as safe and comfortable as possible during his transformations, Justin waves it away. They simply can’t afford it. At least staying in an enclosure is free, even if Justin has to literally travel through a forest to get to one.

By now he knows the route well, though, knows exactly which trees to pass to take him home. It’s just about coming around to fall, the branches still hanging on to their leaves before they turn red-orange-yellow and drop to the floor to be crunched underfoot. Justin comes here with Heath sometimes – or, not here, not this deep into the woods; it’s a big forest and it’s much safer for humans like Heath closer to home – and they like it in the autumn in particular.

Heath likes the autumn especially; it’s his favourite season, he says. Maybe it’s not the first season others might use to describe him; most would say he’s bright and loud and summery, but Justin thinks he fits into the fall just as well. After all, he knows Heath better than anyone does. He’s that spark of warmth when you go inside again on that first day when you can see your breath in the ever icier air, the vibrancy of the colours of the leaves in the trees, the strong and certain flames of a hearth that roar on even as the evenings grow darker and colder.

A bonfire.

And now Justin can see the year-old remains of a bonfire from where he’s walking; he’s getting close. He loops around it, takes a trip through some more pines until he’s finally on the beaten down dirt path that means he’s ever so close to the row of tiny one-storey houses whose backyards eventually back out into the trees. _Home_.

He smiles when he can see the roofs peeking out from over the back fences. There’s a lockable gate built into their own fence so he can easily get back inside when he has to leave for the moons, and honestly, he’s so grateful he doesn’t have to climb over anymore. One time, years ago, he’s pretty sure he almost got himself shot by a neighbour who was in the garden next door at the time because they thought he was breaking in and didn’t recognise him until the very last second. Heath had wanted to march around to next door and _give that fucker a piece of his mind_ , but Justin convinced him that just getting a gate would be enough. Especially as Heath attempting to do that would most likely end in him getting hurt, even if their neighbour didn’t happen to own a gun.

Justin fishes out the back door key from a pocket and turns it in the lock, relocking the door once he’s stepped inside. He wipes his feet and pads through the kitchen, through the lounge, into the hall. The house is quiet, almost disturbingly so, but it’s still a welcome change from a yard full of other weres howling at the hum of the moon.

He breaks the silence himself by creaking open the bedroom door. The room is as still as the rest of the house, and Heath’s just a mess of orange hair peeking out from under the duvet. Justin steps closer to the bed, kicking his shoes off and shrugging off his jacket. He’s trying to be careful, trying not to wake Heath because he can tell from the heavy breathing (plus the unshakeable fact that Heath is never going to be awake this early on a weekend) that Heath is asleep. Justin sits on the bed beside him, not trying to pry away the covers from Heath just yet.

But Heath stirs next to him, just ever so slightly, and – “J-Justin?”

Justin reaches a hand out, lets it stroke through Heath’s hair. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Course it is. Ain’t that what anyone would say, though? You better not be anyone else, ‘cause if you are then my werewolf boyfriend will probably be home soon and he won’t be happy if someone’s broken in, so you better run.”

Justin smiles and leans down to kiss the top of Heath’s head. Heath yawns against the pillows and props himself up just a little.

“Was it OK?” he asks, voice heavy with sleep. “Like, this month. Your... your transformation. Just because that one time, a few months ago, you said...”

“I know,” Justin interrupts. He knows what he said. He knows what happened back then. He’d rather not remember it in detail. “It’s... it’s getting better.”

It really is, even if his tone probably doesn’t sound very convincing. He’s beginning to feel more normal again as he shifts, or, as normal as shifting _can_ feel, at least. It’s not a particularly ordinary experience. There’s no way to tell whether a transformation might be good or bad.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Justin, trying to sound more confident now. “One thing, though: when you wake up, you’re making us breakfast. I’m the one who’s been howling at the moon outside all night.”

“You got it,” Heath tells him, and he presses his face back into the pillow again, drifting back off.

Justin slips under the cover next to him, burying his face in Heath’s neck, his hair. Sleep isn’t exactly necessary for werewolves (not on a regular basis, at least), but this – this closeness, this warmth – is definitely something that he can appreciate.


End file.
